


Lock Up

by plentyofmalk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: Fitz and Simmons are perfect for each other. Daisy knows it, their coworkers know it, it’s just common sense. But due to a rather unfortunate incident during Jemma’s first week on the job at Shield Securities, the two haven’t been able to be in the same room as one another without awkwardness abound.So maybe drastic measures have to be taken. And maybe they find themselves locked in the work lab overnight. And maybe that’s enough to get these two idiots together by the time the new year rolls around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [welshpastry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/welshpastry/gifts).



“It’s us against the world.”

“Feeling dramatic, are we?”

Daisy sighed, loud enough to be heard amongst the various conversations taking place in the bar, and stared down at the latest text on her phone. The bright light of the screen glared back at her with the text that initiated her frustration.

_[Fitz:] Sorry. Didn’t know there were going to be others there. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight, anyways. Have a good time._

One night, that’s all she was asking for from the universe. Just one night of her two best friends in a room together, actually talking, maybe even with _each other_. Dare she ask for even a little eye contact? But _noooo_ , of course not. She shook her head and turned toward Hunter, ever full of himself (and already full of a pint or three as well) before replying.

“We’ve been trying to make a love connection between the two dumbest geniuses on the planet for months now. Geniuses who, I’ll remind you, are so bad at communicating that they can’t string together 3 sentences before one of them finds an excuse to leave the room. And now somehow Fitz’s previously-free schedule has magically been booked up just because I _mentioned_ that Simmons might be dropping by. And if I have to spend too much longer thinking about these idiots and their love life, I’m pretty sure Lincoln is going to assume I’ve lost interest in _ours_.” Daisy huffed, took a swig from her bottle, and turned. “Anything I’m forgetting, Bobbi?”

Bobbi took the handoff, feigning thought before replying. “Oh, I think you’ve pretty much covered the improbability of it all, but did you mean to skip over the fact that the first time they actually worked in the lab together, they ended up practically naked and didn’t even take _that_ as a sign?”

“Right, of course!” Daisy pressed her fingers to her temple. “How could I forget that part when I’m pretty sure there’s a path burned into our living room floor from Fitz freaking out about it.”

Hunter stared down at his bottle, fiddling with the corner of the label and giving a resolute nod.

“I always thought we worked best under impossible circumstances.” He raised his drink into the air in the middle of their table. “So, what do you say? Us against the world?”

Daisy glanced at Bobbi, who looked casually amused as she brought her own glass up beside his.

They were hopeless. Totally, completely hopeless.

...Unless.

_No_ , Daisy thought. She really shouldn’t. It would be wrong, and a blatant trap. But then again, trying to be casual and go about things the honest way was apparently never going to get anything accomplished, if tonight was any indication.

With determination, Daisy raised her glass. “To us against the world. We’ve got some planning to do, and an apology to prepare in advance.”

__________________________

All in all, things had gone pleasantly well for the day, Jemma thought. She’d come to work for the day with a long list of items she was determined to check off if she wanted to start the new year fresh. Only one simulation to finish, some general tidying up her of station, and two reports to file away before she could officially bid farewell to the office until 2017.

The lab bustled with a couple of others mulling about, even though most seemed to be halfway out the door already. The only other person in the room who seemed to be of any help to her that day was Bobbi, who was currently removing her gloves and packing away her workstation. She smiled as her friend leaned against the countertop in front of her.

“You think they’re ready to go?” Bobbi asked, nodding her head towards two technicians playing paper football in the corner.

Jemma rolled her eyes, turning back to her paperwork, making sure that everything was in order. She didn’t notice Daisy come into the lab until Bobbi was waving her over. She looked just about as ready to leave as everyone else, with her work bag slung over her shoulder and a large, relieved smile on her face.

“What is it about a Friday that happens to come right before New Year’s Eve that makes me want to take an extra sigh of relief?” She asked, pulling her buzzingphone out of her pocket and responding to a text on her screen. “It’s like, double the normal amount of good.”

“Agreed.” Jemma chirped. “And once this simulation is done I’m sure I’ll feel the same. But until then, you’re going to have to enjoy the early weekend for me.”

“No problem there,” Daisy shot back. “I’m heading over to Lincoln’s after this and I do not plan on thinking about work for the rest of the year. The security system can take care of itself this weekend because I am officially...” she set her phone down and stared at the clock on the wall as it officially turned 4pm, “Off!”

As the other employees sped out of the room, Bobbi shrugged out of her lab coat and reached for her own bag. “I’m heading over to Hunter’s, want me to give you a ride?”

“I’ll gladly take you up on that.” Daisy said. “But I actually came here for a reason. Simmons, what are you doing tomorrow night? Any hot New Year’s Eve plans?”

Jemma batted her hand and scoffed. “No, of course not.”

“So then,” Daisy ventured, “you’re saying you would be available to come over to my place? Nothing wild, just a small intimate gathering with my best friends where, over the course of the night, we slowly drink away at the excessive amount of alcohol I’ve already bought for such an occasion?”

“Daisy…”

“Did I mention there are party hats involved? I already bought you a hat, Simmons, you have to come. Tell her, Bobbi.”

Bobbi nodded. “I was with her when she bought them.”

Jemma sighed. This wasn’t the first time either of them had tried to drag her out to something while blatantly omitting the fact that Daisy’s roommate -- and mutual coworker -- would be there as well. Which was silly, because of course _she_ didn’t have a problem with Leo Fitz. But it was glaringly obvious that the same couldn’t be said for him.

Since starting at Shield Securities earlier that year, Jemma had run into Fitz a total of six times. Not that she was counting. But if she were, she would also know that of those six, four of them were in her first week. They had been introduced by Phil Coulson on her first day, and she had immediately been taken aback by several things about him. The first was his accent, that reminded her of home and caused her name to roll off his tongue quite nicely. The second was that he appeared to be as young as her, which after some research into his work later that day, revealed to be true. It had been a while since she found someone to match her intellectually, even if he only had one PhD to her two.

And the third, she’d thought as she stared down at their shaking hands with blushed cheeks, was that he was very -- incredibly -- handsome.

He’d been shy, or maybe just quiet, but perfectly polite to her nonetheless on their second encounter outside the building after work that day. And again when they happened to share an elevator ride up together the next morning, talking a bit about the weather and her thoughts on a prototype he needed biochemical advice on.

The fourth time they met, after hours in the lab, discussing more about his ideas and how she could improve them, was going extremely well. She could even pick up on the moments here and there when Fitz, for all his clumsiness, actually attempted to flirt with her. The gentle way he teased her note-taking habits, the slight brush of his shoulder against hers...

And then, of course, it’d all gone horribly wrong when Fitz’s literal clumsiness led to a broken beaker that spilled over his sleeve and her pant legs. Which then led to a shirtless-Fitz and bare-legged Jemma sharing a very cold, and very awkward, decontamination shower together.

They didn’t see each other again for another week, until a staff meeting on the incident in which Fitz somehow managed to avoid looking at her the entire time. Which she was willing to contribute to embarrassment over the whole thing and be done with it. But two weeks later, when he’d shown up for drinks that his friend Daisy had invited her to, only to find a reason to leave before his first beer was finished, it became very clear.

He very obviously wasn’t interested in anything to do with her.

Coming back to the present, Jemma shook her head at her friends. “Of course I would, Daisy, but I think Fitz might not take to kindly to the idea.”

Daisy released a frustrated sigh. “First of all, you’re so wrong on that, and I’ll say it as long as I have to-”

“I’m not-”

“But!” Daisy raised her hand to stop her. “That doesn’t matter anyways, because as it just so happens, Fitz isn’t going to be there. Won’t even be in the country, in fact. I guess he’s flying back to visit his mom or something. You know, good kid stuff that I’ll never understand.” She said with a smirk.

“So will you _please_ come over tomorrow? Make this your last good deed of the year, c’mon.”

Jemma pondered. It would definitely be nice to spend the night in good company, and if Fitz really wasn’t going to be there…

“Sounds like fun.” She agreed, shrugging off her lab coat even though her work wasn’t quite done yet.

Daisy let out a squeal and raised her hands in the air. “Yes! It’s going to be great, I promise. Just come over, no need to bring anything, and we’ll say so long to this crap year together. You ready Bobbi?”

Bobbi, as it stood, was already halfway across the room heading toward the door. “Let’s go. If I don’t get to Hunter in time, he’ll fill himself up on junk food, and I have reservations.”

She watched her friends leave, and with a twist of something pleasant in her stomach, Jemma thought the weekend might not be so bad after all.

__________________________

_[Bobbi:] Hey, it’s Daisy. I think I left my phone in the lab and Bobbi and I already took off. Can you swing by and pick it up on your way out? I don’t really need it tonight but I’ll want it over the weekend._

Fitz sighed as he looked down at his screen, but quickly finished packing his things into his bag before replying.

_[Fitz:] Yeah, okay. Is everyone gone for the day? Don’t wanna sneak up on anyone in the middle of something._

_[Bobbi:] Could you please get over your Simmons-phobia for 30 seconds so you can grab my phone? She’s probably gone for the day anyways._

Halfway through typing out a response, he thought better than to give Daisy what she was clearly looking for, choosing instead to stuff his phone into his pocket. After all, what did he really have to prove? That he wasn’t deathly afraid of the smart, intimidating, beautiful, fantastic-smile-owning biochemist?

Fitz scoffed, and the echo bounced off the walls to mock him right back.

He still remembered his first encounter with Jemma Simmons, the wunderkind double PhD Coulson had insisted on introducing to him on her first day. _‘I think you’ll work well together,’_ he’d said. _‘Don’t wanna keep you on your toes, but she might even be a bit smarter than you are.’_

It was ridiculous, of course, but Fitz agreed to meet her nonetheless. Because he certainly hadn’t met anyone else that could keep up with him up until that point, and it didn’t hurt to at least prove Coulson wrong. So his surprise upon finally meeting Simmons and putting a face to the name later that day had been...surprising.

A fellow transplant from the UK, and roughly his age (twenty three days younger, he figured out in a perfectly normal, not-at-all stalker-like research session that night), she approached him with a bright smile and firm handshake. The meeting was brief, but fruitful enough to prove there had been some truth to Coulson’s claims about her. 

He had the fortune of running into her several other times that week. By the time he shared an elevator ride with her, and they held the lift for a significant amount of time talking non-lethal paralytics before the door closed on her face, Fitz knew he was in trouble. Deep, sweat-inducing, daydream feeding trouble. So for once in his life, he went against his instinct and decided to actually pursue it.

It had started innocently enough. He came to visit Simmons in the lab and struck up a continuation of their conversation from the elevator. The traded ideas back and forth about some of his projects, and then about hers, before they both realized the others had left for the day. He remembered the way she grabbed at her stomach and commented that she had forgotten lunch that day. It was his cue, he thought. So he tentatively approached her station, resting an elbow on the counter, close enough that he could easily lean forward and suggest that they perhaps go to dinner to continue the conversation.

But, Fitz recalled, he was cursed to blow every chance he got. It was the only way to explain how he ended up saying nothing, and spilling the entire content of a test tube on the both of them instead.

Once the rush of panic had settled, and he came to his senses, he realized he was stark bare from the waist up and under a cold shower with a very pantless, very soaked woman of his dreams. Suffice to say, it had been a blessing that the shower was cold. After he knew she was okay, but before she could berate him for his carelessness, he had thrown his hoodie on for coverage and promptly exited the way he came. And then successfully avoided her ever since. But as Fitz opened the lab door, he quickly realized his streak had run out at the sight of Jemma pulling safety goggles off of her face, still somehow managing to look impossibly pretty despite the red impression outlining her forehead.

The sound of the door opening startled Jemma, but she was even more surprised at who she saw standing behind her, looking like he’d been caught somewhere he shouldn’t have been. Her first thought was that he looked endearingly uncomfortable, hand clasped behind his neck in a way that caused the side of his shirt to come untucked from his slacks. Their eyes caught for a moment, both clearly trying to asses who would speak first.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t think anyone else was still here.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving him off. “I’m about to leave, anyway. Just a couple things I wanted to finish up.” She cleared her throat, gesturing at the space around them. “What are you doing here? Not to say you aren’t welcome, of course-”

“Ah, yes!” Coming back to his senses, Fitz quickly spotted his roommate’s phone face down and made quick work snatching it up from the table. He brandished it for her to see, to prove he had reason to be there, apparently. “Just needed to grab this. Can’t believe Daisy forgot it, to be honest.”

Jemma gave a hum in reply. “That does seem unlike her, she’s so attached to that thing. But that’s very, uh, nice of you to pick it up for her.”

He nodded, offering a small shrug and tracing the tile with the tip of his shoe.

“So, are you heading out now, too?”

“Yeah, ‘ve got some errands to run before I head home.” Specifically, a list of libations and snacks Daisy had somehow managed to convince him he should be buying for their party. He hesitated to call it their party, since for all intents and purposes, the entire things was orchestrated by her, but if he was putting money into it, he planned to take half of the credit. 

Besides, he’d run out of the kind of pretzels he kept hidden away in his room and needed to resupply anyways.

Slipping the phone into his bag, he gave her a quick nod before ducking his head.

“Happy New Year, Simmons.”

“Happy New Year, Fitz.” She called after him. “I hope you have a safe flight home!”

The odd comment struck him and Fitz turned to face her, already halfway to the door.

“Flight?”

And then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

It took a moment for Jemma’s eyes to adjust after the power went out, blinking until the light creeping in from the outside began to illuminate her surroundings. She figured it was only a matter of minutes before the emergency generator kicked in to power the few things it was programmed to under these kinds of circumstances.

So luckily, the cat liver in the fridge was safe from spoiling.

The next thing she remembered was that Fitz was still in the lab with her, and at present he was looking at her with a mix of concern and confusion.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yes, of course. Just trying to remember the protocol for these situations.”

“Protocol. Right.”

“Fitz,” she questioned, tone heavy with suspicion. “You have read the protocols for these sorts of things, right?”

“‘Course I have.” He was quick to respond. “It’s just… been a while, is all. Let’s see, in the event of an, unanticipated power outage-”

“-Security measures dictate that a mandatory lockdown remain in place until an authorized member of the internal securities team restores power in the control room directly or through an otherwise secured connection.”

“Which means...” Fitz asked, moving to the door only to fumble with the handle.

“We’re stuck until someone lets us out, I’m afraid. Shouldn’t be too much of an issue, just so long as Daisy can clear the--”

“She won’t. Her alerts would go to her phone” Fitz reminded her, patting the pocket where said phone resided. With his brows furrowed and anxiously pinching the bridge of his nose, he seemed more on edge than Jemma would have suspected. “And the only other person with access to do an offsite restore is Miles, who’s probably so pissed already that he’d just make things worse. Oh.” He gripped the bench closest to him, which was when she noticed his knuckles go white, even as he tried to keep his composure.

Normally, she would have thought Fitz had a radar to detect any time she came within ten feet, but as she approached seven, six, and five, he seemed unfazed. She took another cautious step toward him as she started to recognize what was happening.

“Fitz? Is everything okay?”

When he finally looked up, Jemma could see him realize how close she had gotten over the last couple of moments. Coming back to himself, he quickly let go of the bench and walked to back to the door, struggling with the handle a little more aggressively than before.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘f course. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He asked, avoiding her eyes. Suddenly, his tie felt to tight pressing against his throat, causing his breath in shallow, quick spurts. As casually as possible, he reached up with one shaking hand to loosen it. Doing so only seemed to draw her attention even more, and with a grimace he began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stick up.

She watched in the dimmed light as his breathing picked up, noting the way he seemed to struggle a little more than normal with his tie. With the knot loosened, he looked all the more flustered, and by the way his eyes darted to every exit possibility -- the door, a window, even down to the ventilation -- she felt confident in what was happening.

“Fitz, are you claustrophobic?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No, no I’m not. Why would you ask me that?”

She gestured to his frame as if to convey, _‘Well.’_ “It’s just that you seem to be experiencing the outward symptoms of a panic attack.”

“ _‘Panic’_...? Please, Simmons, you think I can’t--” He attempted to scoff, gasping for air a little more obviously now.

She huffed, a normal thing in his presence, but this time without annoyance and more filled with frustration over his stubbornness. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with a panic attack, Fitz. Please, I’m just trying to help.” She pleaded with him, imploring him to look at her so that he might see her genuine concern.

When Fitz finally turned to look at her, he felt winded for an entirely different reason than the swelling anxiety within him. She looked concerned, _for him_ , her eyes filled with something. Not sympathy, but empathy for sure. Most comforting was the way she held out her hand to him. Her palm was turned up, welcoming, not turned down like she was an adult placating a child, or facing him directly in defence. Jemma Simmons wanted to help him.

With a loud exhale, he finally nodded.

She approached him cautiously, before gesturing to the ground. “Perhaps we should sit? Make ourselves as comfortable as possible, at least.”

He didn’t respond verbally, but she smiled as he descended to the floor with his legs outstretched. Seated, Fitz looked back up at her in time to give her a curt nod when she indicated that she was going to sit next to him. 

“As a scientist,” Jemma began, “I prefer to know the facts of a situation. It helps me think more logically. So I’m going to very forthcoming with what I’m doing, is that okay?”

Fitz stared down at his hands, absorbing her words and trying to focus on the lilt of her voice rather than the clamminess of his palms. “Yes, that’s… I would appreciate that.”

From out of the corner of his eye, he could see her brief smile.

“Good. Okay, I’m going to ask you some basic questions to help you focus. What’s your title?”

“Chief Mechanical Engineer.”

“Name the first five elements of the periodic table.”

He let out a scoff, but answered willingly. She continued on, reminding him only once of their current situation and that, more importantly, nothing had happened that was not outlined clearly in their procedure manuals. Eventually, the questions turned to less to facts, and more to opinions that would promote him to start talking more.

“And who’s your favorite engineer, Fitz?”

He thought briefly before answering. “Charles Babbage.”

“And Englishman?” Jemma said, the faintest hint of a tease in her inflection.

“You and yours have some good ideas, I suppose.” He threw her a small smirk, prompting a small laugh from her throat while she nodded.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

_Spoken aloud, maybe._ Fitz thought to himself. 

He could feel his breathing slowly begin to even out as Jemma continued asking him questions. His lightheadedness dissipated, and with a sense of relief he noticed that he could no longer feel his heart beating against his ribcage.

She was prattling on about something -- in all honesty he hadn’t been listening too closely for the last minute or so -- when he decided to stop her with a raise of his hand.

“Simmons.” Fitz said, his voice soft. “I’m- It’s much better now.”

“Oh!” She smiled, wide and relieved, and from this distance he could see the dimples that formed in her cheeks because of it. “Good.”

Curiosity nagged at him while he picked at the seam of his slacks against his knee. “How did you know?”

She looked at him, head tilted curiously. “About the panic attack?”

He nodded.

“It’s pretty common, especially in our line of work. All of that pressure.” She wrung her hands together in front of her, debating her next choice of words. “I used to get them myself, especially during University, being as young as I was. Is that when yours started?” She bit her lip and mentally chastised herself, and tugged back a bit to give a couple more inches of space between their hips where they had become increasingly closer. “I’m sorry, that’s rude. I don’t mean to pry when-”

Fitz could see the moment she began to pull away, and there was nothing he wanted more in that moment but to keep her from retreating back (physically, conversationally, _however_ ). With a deep breath, he spoke.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Fitz,” Simmons said, “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s not embarrassing.”

“It wasn’t University.” He said, “Earlier than that, but kinda similar, I guess. I was twelve, should’ve been in S1 but I was already starting S4. Didn’t have a lot of friends, ‘cept for one. Ward, some Army Brat who’s dad was stationed there for a while. Thought it was a joke at first but then it really seemed like…” Fitz trailed off. He remembered his life back then, days spent taking his mum’s toaster apart and back together, again and again. Ward was the first kid who got him out of his house, really, after his father had left. They had classes together, and after a while it began to feel like Ward had filled some tiny spot of void his dad had left. Like a cool older brother that still wanted to hang around with him. But then.

“Had a party at his house once, when his parents were out. Talked me into coming over, even sweet-talked my mom into agreeing to it. Then at some point he asked me to grab something from the basement for him and the other boys and then-”

“They locked you down there.” Jemma finished for him, correctly.

“Spent the night in a cold dark basement in Glasgow, listening to the rest of ‘em having a grand night of it.” Fitz elaborated and rolled his eyes. “But I already realized they just thought I was some stupid.. _kid_ , so I didn’t make a scene, or tell my mum. No one, actually.” With a shuddering breath, he continued. “Until, well.” He stared face forward, avoiding her gaze even as he gestured toward her.

Until…her? Did Leo Fitz -- grumpy engineer who refused to give her a second glance -- actually imply that she was the only person to know such an intimate detail about his life? She felt an influx of emotions at the thought. Gratitude that she was about to help him (she knew all too well the burden of handling them alone), privileged that he trusted her enough to tell her, and utter fear that she was, somehow, still going to mess it up. After all, what did one say when their unspoken enemy suddenly opened up to such a degree?

Before she could think better of it, Jemma brought her hand up to capture one of his, resting in his lap.

The feeling of her cold hand tracing over his startled Fitz out of his thoughts, but he was startled even more by her soft spoken _‘Thank you.’_ that tumbled out of her mouth.

“For the record,” Jemma added, squaring her shoulders the same way she did any time she knew she had the high ground, “he sounds like a proper idiot.”

A chuckle rippled through him, and he rolled his head back. “Obviously. Felt validating to watch him fail his classes that year, anyways. Pretty sure his dad getting reassigned was just some elaborate cover to get out of town after that.”

Jemma laughed, warm and throaty, and Fitz couldn’t help but to watch her mouth split into a wide grin even while she slapped him on the shoulder. His only regret was that she used the hand previously holding his to do so.

Feeling the unease of the last couple minutes receding, Jemma settled back beside him in comfortable silence.

He ran his hands over his face, resetting. “Hope you didn’t have any plans tonight, seeing as we’re likely stuck here until the system resets.” 

He fiddled with the knot in his tie until it finally hung loose around his collar, and Jemma found herself drawn to the slight stubble of his jawbone, leading down to the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallowed. She unknowingly mimicked him, and briefly thought about what that stubble would feel like against her lips. Tingly, like it would scratch an itch she wasn’t aware of until he was soothing it, she guessed.

And then promptly shook herself out of it. _This_ , Jemma thought. This was why she avoided him at all costs. Because she was still the same person that found him fascinating (and attractive, and intelligent, _interesting_ ) from the get-go. And he, of course, was still the same Fitz that couldn’t manage to be in a room with her under normal circumstances. And if he was opening up enough to maybe allow her to be his friend? Well, she could deal with that.

“Please,” she answered. “The only thing I’m missing on a Friday night is my weekly date.”

Fitz’s face fell, even though he tried to stay as neutral as possible. A date? Why on Earth had Daisy been so pushy about his pursuing her, if she bloody well _knew_ that she wasn’t available?

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized. “How long have you two..?”

Jemma’s eyebrows rose, and she realized very quickly that he had interpreted her literally. Did he look...disappointed? It seemed unlikely, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to drag him along.

“Us? Oh, we’ve been seeing each other for years.” She said, studiously avoiding eye contact. She was never the best liar, but she hoped her tone and the way she avoided his gaze would read as something other than dodging his questioning gaze.

He would refuse to admit it, but at hearing the news, his heart sank. _Of course,_ he thought, _there’s not a universe out there where Jemma Simmons doesn’t have a doting boyfriend._ He was probably taller, definitely not as pasty, able to sweep her off her feet. The kind of guy that would swoop in to save her from being locked up for the night with the one person she couldn’t stand.

“His name is Earl.” She said, wistfully. In some small victory, Fitz took pride in knowing that he had a name _at least_ as embarrassing as _Leopold_.

“He’s warm, and always makes me feel better,” she continued on. “And the best part is that he doesn’t mind that I see other people while we’re together. Stays silent and supportive while I spend hours with the Twelfth Doctor, even when he’s in the same room. A real stand up comfort, he is.” And then she snorted. An honest to God, _snort_ , and quickly, Fitz realized he had been duped.

Earl.

Grey.

She had been stringing him along talking about her routine date with a cup of _tea_.

“Funny, Simmons. I hope you have a long and happy life together.”

“Wait, wait, don’t you want to hear about my exes?” She asked between gasps for air. “Ben and Jerry? They could be so sweet--”

“Okay.”

“But so _cold_.”

“Are you done now? Here I was, just trying to be polite…” His own laughter belied his words, succumbing to the infectiousness joy Jemma’s pure -- if cheesy -- teasing.

She looked absolutely stunning in that moment, Fitz realized, with one hand poorly covering her smile while the other rested on her chest. Her very nice chest, hidden conservatively under a delicately patterned blouse. So perverts like him couldn’t ogle her, he reasoned.

Jemma took ampule satisfaction from the fact that she had gotten Fitz to crack a smile. Not even a smile, but a laugh. It almost covered up the grumble the resonated from his stomach moments later.

“Hungry?” She arched an eyebrow.

“‘Course I’m bloody hungry,” Fitz moaned. “Would’ve eaten by now if it weren’t for all this.”

Placing a quick pat to his knee -- unconscious on her part, but dutifully noted on his -- she rose and disappeared into a smaller room to their left. He heard her rummage around, rifling through the mini fridge no doubt, and was just getting up to help when she reappeared. In one hand she held two bottles of water, and waved a sandwich triumphantly in the other.

“Turkey with mozzarella,” Jemma said, placing the items on the counter in front of them and handing Fitz his half. “I normally use prosciutto but it was all I had on hand this morning.”

She tried not to watch him too obviously while he admired the sandwich contents. But she _had_ made it, after all, and she certainly valued feedback and maybe, _maybe_ she just wanted to know if notorious eater Leo Fitz would approve of her efforts.

Her curiosity was soothed when he let out an embarrassing moan at first bite. Not that she thought it was embarrassing -- more like validating, ego-boosting and slightly adorable -- but if the way his eyes popped open was any indication, she could tell that Fitz hadn’t meant to react so verbally. He chewed faster than she thought was physically possible and managed to take another bite before speaking.

“ _What_ is that spread?”

“Just a hint of pesto aioli. Homemade.” Jemma replied, chest puffed with satisfaction. “You like it?”

He let the flavors mull over on his tastebuds. “Like it? Simmons, this is delicious.”

She smiled, bringing her thumb up to her mouth to catch the small dollop that had squeezed out of her half. “Next time with proscuitto, that’s when you’ll have to try it again.”

The offer should have garnered a response from him, but as it stood Fitz was having a hard time concentrating on anything beyond the sight of Jemma’s lips wrapping around the tip of her finger. Which he was fully aware made him an awful person, but there was a reason he’d avoided her at all costs. As it turned out, having seen the woman of your dreams half naked was a huge boost of fuel to one’s imagination.

He needed a distraction.

“Wonder if anyone has some crisps hidden in their drawers,” he said, moving to fumble around at a nearby station. “Can’t hurt to check.”

“Mmm, excellent idea!”

She headed to one side of the lab while Fitz rifled through the other. Most were filled with the expected: safety equipment, stationary, well-worn notes. After exhausting his side, he returned to their station with a half empty carton of cookies and an unusually large tub of trail mix (the kind with chocolate chips, much to Fitz’s enjoyment).

From Bobbi’s station, Jemma gasped, muttering a low _‘What on_ earth _’_ , before pulling out a barely-touched bottle of tequila. Fitz’s eyes widened to match hers as she shook it in disbelief.

“I’m going to assume she has never dipped into this while working with toxic chemicals.” She muttered.

Disappearing into the break room once more, Jemma re-emerged with two small glasses.

“What should we toast to?” Fitz asked.

She considered briefly before responding. “To colleagues breaking protocol, and leaving non-work related items in their drawers?”

“And to having company under the circumstances.” Fitz offered, hesitantly. To his relief, she smiled, glass raised.

The clinked, and he took comfort in the harsh burn at the back of his throat before slamming his glass back down in time with hers. She made the most adorable shot-face, he thought, nose scrunched and eyes twisted shut, her shoulders pushed back in perfect English-approved posture.

Scientifically, he knew it was illogical, but the look in her eyes when she fixed her gaze on him seemed as though the alcohol had already made her more daring.

“So Fitz,” she ventured, “about the English having the best scientists…”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a one-shot that refused to be a oneshot for Welshpastry/Cassiannandor on tumblr, so to get it started, here's the first chapter. Expect an update in the next day or two :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr, where I'm -- surprise! -- plentyofmalk.


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